Joseph Rourke with his daughter, Catherine
by Catherine J. Rourke
It was Father’s Day 2002 and Dad lay dying, far away in a New York City hospital, deteriorating from the combined symptoms of Parkinson’s disease and prostate cancer at the age of 82.
That afternoon, we spoke for what would be the very last time. As always, his questions remained the same as they had for the last three decades.
“How’s your financial situation?”
My answers remained the same as they did three decades ago.
“Uh … well, there never seems to be quite enough to make ends meet.”
Money was always short, especially when working as an editor and columnist for rural newspapers. In fact, I was working a second job as a waitress, thanks to Sedona’s high-priced housing market and ever-increasing cost of living. Amazingly, I earned the same amount of income in two nights of slinging hash as I made in an entire week as a veteran newspaper editor with almost 30 years experience.
Dad agreed there was something terribly wrong with newspaper salaries. Next question.
“Are you focusing on your creative writing?” he asked, referring to most journalists’ elusive dream of penning a novel. The answer echoed the financial one.
“Uh … well, there never seems to be quite enough time.”
Time and money. Weren’t they every writer’s eternal lament?
“Never ever ever give up!” Dad declared, repeating his favorite motto from Sir Winston Churchill. “Always remember your dreams and keep them alive. And, remember, I believe in you and will always love you.”
Dad slipped into a coma shortly after and passed away a few weeks later. He had lost the battle against cancer but ultimately won the war, as he lived a life rich in heart and spirit that left a legacy to his children.
Right up until his last breath, Joseph Rourke was the quintessential father, dedicated to his family above everything else. He died the way he lived his life – selflessly devoted to them in true paternal fashion.
A lifetime of devotion
It all began in 1932 during the Great Depression when Dad was 12 and lost his own father in a tragic accident. That year he became a father overnight to his four brothers and sisters, leaving sixth grade to support his mother and siblings.
Dad found employment as a newspaper boy, hawking headlines in Times Square in his cap and knickers. Then he landed a job as a Western Union messenger, delivering Moneygrams to Broadway showgirls, who lavished him with generous tips.
Dad made certain his family never went hungry in an era that preceded Social Security and extensive life insurance policies. At a time when many folks were picking through the trash for sustenance, he fed his loved ones roast beef.
Then the war came, and Dad naturally volunteered to serve his country, enlisting in the Army Air Force in 1940. He survived Pearl Harbor and, later on, a severe plane crash when his B-24 bomber was shot down over North Africa. In his typical style, Dad walked away wounded but with a Purple Heart for pulling his crew members to safety, shrugging it off as “just another day.”
That was how Dad taught us to embrace life. “Don’t ever let things get you down,” he would tell me when I felt exasperated. “You just keep on doing what you have to do, and do it with a smile.”
And so he did as he raised three children of his own on a meager bank teller’s salary while finishing his college education at night. Whether it meant working overtime or taking on a second job, he always went the extra mile to provide us with the best he possibly could.
A true millionaire
Dad wasn’t a rich man. In my eyes, he was a millionaire who bestowed to his children a boundless legacy of wisdom and unconditional love in its purest form. He taught us the joy of giving – and to expect nothing in return. While he couldn’t afford to give us big allowances or expensive toys, he lavished gifts upon us in far greater ways.
For me, his generosity was the way he always calmly lent a listening ear and offered his gentle advice or the way he mediated with teachers and boyfriends on my behalf whenever I found myself in a pickle. Whether I was moving, stuck in a crisis, looking for a job or fighting city hall, Dad never failed to come to my side, always affectionately reminding me to “keep the faith.”
The hilarious traits that still bring a smile to my face were another treasure: the collection of Celtic plaid ties that were never quite knotted right and the way he wrestled with Christmas tree lights and threading home movies onto film projectors. Small details, perhaps, that seemed trite during the course of our young lives; yet years later these memories return to us as priceless family heirlooms.
Service and conviction
In addition, Dad set an example of passionate community service. Right up until his hospitalization, he orchestrated fund-raisers, marched in parades, conducted blood drives, organized endless committees, joined a host of fraternal organizations, volunteered for charity events and served on his college alumni board.
I fondly remember sitting on his lap, watching him as he banged out newsletters for many community organizations on his Underwood typewriter. Dad loved books and instilled in me a love and respect for the written word. He was proud of my choice of profession and urged me to uphold the highest standards of journalistic truth and justice.
Dad eventually became Grand Knight for his Knights of Columbus council. In my girlhood eyes, he was a grand knight, indeed, and he remained my knight in shining armor right up to the very end.
In fitting tribute to his life of service and courage, Dad was buried at Arlington National Cemetery with full military honors. Struggling to pen his eulogy, I found myself lost for words to describe this noble spirit who exemplified the very essence of paternal love and service to his fellow man.
I wrote: You can take all your great heroes – your generals and your gurus, your statesmen and your saints, your popes and your prophets – and still, all dim in comparison to the humble greatness of my father.
The real jackpot
Fortunately, Dad wasn’t alone. There are many fathers like him today, who tirelessly dedicate all their time and energy to making a better life for their families. They are, quite simply and above all else, fathers – unconditionally and indefatigably.
From car crises to collect calls, how do we thank them for all those countless times when we just don’t know what we would have done without them?
Some years ago, as a struggling freelance writer, I found myself down to my last dime, too proud to call home. That day, a letter arrived from Dad in my mailbox, which read:
Always keep your chin up and keep in good spirits. Expect a miracle. And never ever ever give up.
Enclosed was a check for $5,000 that he had just won from a lottery ticket by playing my birthday numbers. Dad didn’t even keep a single cent for himself.
Those words meant more than the cash that accompanied them. The money is long since gone, but the true jackpot was a father’s message of love and encouragement, which remains in my heart forever.
Incredible inheritance
Dad bequeathed to me and my sisters unconditional love, compassion, perseverance, generosity, truth, integrity and service. Now that’s one mighty inheritance.
What is the legacy your father has given you?
Surely he has imparted some lessons and wisdom, even if he wasn’t the greatest dad. This Father’s Day, celebrate that fact and the sacrifices he may have made on your behalf. If he’s still around, tell him how much you appreciate him. I was lucky to have that opportunity before our final goodbye.
A father’s love never dies. If he’s passed on, think of it not as the loss of a parent but as the gaining of an angel who never ceases to watch over you.
The only way I can honor my dad now is to live my life just the way he did – always striving to do the best, wearing a radiant smile, giving lavishly and believing in miracles.
Happy Father’s Day to all you wonderful dads out there. Keep your chin up and keep in good spirits in these challenging times. And never ever ever give up.
Catherine Rourke is an award-winning professional journalist in Sedona, Ariz., who writes about societal transformation and is dedicated to truth in media and investigative reporting. She quit her job in the mainstream press in 2007 due to censorship of her socioeconomic reform stories and began publishing the Observer without income to uphold journalism ethics.
Her mission as Chief Humanitarian Officer of Conscious Media Evolution is to emancipate today's media from a profit-obsessed business commodity to a principle-based practice for the collective good. Read her full bio on the WHO page and e-mail comments to her at editor@SedonaObserver.com.
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